Durrow moves between Rachel’s perspective and several others as she gradually reveals what happened to the girl’s mother and brothers on that ­Chicago rooftop. But although there’s a plot twist at the end, the novel isn’t driven by suspense. Instead, its energy comes from its vividly realized characters, from how they perceive one another. Durrow has a terrific ear for dialogue, an ability to summon a wealth of hopes and fears in a single line. “How you gonna catch a lizard with your backside loading you down?” asks Grandma as she watches Rachel’s unmarried aunt eat a pancake. “How to learn all these things that might hurt them?” Rachel’s mother writes in her painfully broken English.

Whatever else you can say about the original, it sounded coherent, like one thing. This sounds like a bunch of bad ideas stitched together. Just like the business they're all sinking alongside, it's every performer for him- or herself, and the result is a menagerie of grotesques.